


For the Hopeful Heart

by TheMoments (TBs_LMC)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian Pavus Feels, Dorian Pavus's Amulet, Explicit Language, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Identity Reveal, Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus Friendship, Inquisitor Has A Big Secret, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Nature, POV Dorian Pavus, Romantic Friendship, Sappy, Some Humor, Songfic, Stars, Sweet, The Conclave (Dragon Age), This Story Is Entirely Possible Within Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Truth, Well I'd Like To Think So Anyway, if you think about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29056080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TBs_LMC/pseuds/TheMoments
Summary: The Inquisitor is having trouble explaining something to Dorian. Needless to say, Dorian isn't expecting ANY of what happens. Not that he's complaining. He is, however, hungry.This is a songfic.
Relationships: Dorian Pavus & Original Male Character(s), Dorian Pavus/Original Male Character(s), Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Trevelyan (Dragon Age)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	For the Hopeful Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title and ‘section headers’ in the fic itself are all lyrics from the song “A Home in the Meadow” as sung by Debbie Reynolds in the movie "How the West Was Won."

> _Away, away, come away with me_
> 
> _Where the grass grows wild, where the winds blow free_
> 
> _Away, away, come away with me_
> 
> _And I'll build you a home in the meadow_

“I’m…” Savastian looked away and appeared to Dorian as if he were about to either vomit or pass out or die, perhaps not entirely in that order given that he was in the company of necromancer, after all.

“You’re what?”

Dorian and Inquisitor Trevelyan had just returned from a godawful trip to Redcliffe, wherein the Inquisitor had learned a great deal more about Dorian, his family and his sexuality than Dorian thought the man had probably ever thought he’d know about anyone, especially some hotshot and admittedly drop-dead gorgeous mage from Tevinter.

“You’re..?” Dorian prompted as he turned to look away from the small window he’d been staring out of since their return. After a hot bath and donning fresh clothing and makeup, of course. One couldn’t be seen out and about at Skyhold looking any less than perfect, in spite of having your father not only apologize to you, but tell you that he’d arranged an altogether different marriage for you – with a different _woman_ – if you’d only be so kind as to please come home, now, and give up this _charade_ , as well as cease whatever it is you’re doing with the heathen Inquisitor that won’t produce the golden heirs we’re looking for.

Goodness, whatever it was the Inquisitor was attempting to say not only had rendered him completely mute, but the flustered look painted him even sexier looking than usual.

His father had been so wrong. Dorian couldn’t help but have a good laugh after they’d left the tavern. The one time in his life he actually _hadn’t_ succumbed to something scandalous, you see, was the time he was accused of doing so with the very man he was accused of doing so with, standing right next to him. Blasted shame, really.

Although he found the black-haired grey-eyed Free Marches nobleman literally mouth-watering both in body and in mind, Dorian had never done anything more or less than flirt gently with the man, and only when the Inquisitor himself had hinted openness to it. He hadn’t grown entirely comfortable in ascertaining if the man swung his way from a gender standpoint or a looks standpoint or a personality standpoint or a “hey, I could totally get into this even if it’s only to release tension while we’re battling the arsehole from your birthplace who’s currently trying to fuck up the entire world” standpoint.

He had been uncharacteristically reticent, ‘twas true enough. Though as yet, he’d not gone so far as to contemplate said departure from his normal _modus operandi_ , Dorian wasn’t _that_ self-unaware. There was something that sizzled between them, it was just…sizzling slowly. Painfully slowly, at times. And yet for all the hinted promises of debauchery that lingered in one-off flirtations and throwaway lines, there existed something deeper, something almost…dare he think it given his own history… _pure_ in their interactions.

It all made his head hurt, was the truth of it. At any rate, as it currently was, right now he was feeling rather like beginning his ‘ending the maudlin period of his traditional after-Father encounters by entering quite happily into the drinking-himself-into-a-drunken-stupor’ stage. Yes, half a dozen bottles of that Mackay's Epic Single Malt the Inquisitor had gifted him with some weeks back, that he’d picked up from Valeska’s Watch in that blasted frozen wasteland called Emprise du Lion – which could go to the very devil so far as Dorian was concerned – should do the trick to wipe not only his memory but his consciousness from his…well, consciousness.

His attention was drawn back from deep musings by Savastian’s rather bashful stammering and stuttering, his hemming and hawing, his looking everywhere but at Dorian and then uncomfortably staring at him finally culminating in, “Do you want to away?”

Dorian opened his mouth. Snapped it shut. Oh, so many filthy things going through his head and what had he just been waxing about being pure? Perish the notion. And so he thought for a few seconds before formulating a response that could either get them both out of an awkward situation or leave them open to continuing that line of thought.

“That depends on your definition of the word,” he finally replied. “Here at Skyhold, ‘away’ could mean the Frostbacks, ramparts or mage tower. Out in the Free Marches where you’re from, ‘away’ implies you’re undertaking a rather epic journey from someplace like Kirkwall to Starkhaven in the north. Here in Ferelden, it could mean a day’s journey from Redcliffe to the Circle of Magi, or something as ambitious as traveling from Ostagar to Denrim, never mind the uselessness of the Imperial Highway, such shoddy construction by the ancestors of my countrymen, honestly. And in Tevinter, well, ‘away’ usually means something that involves ditching your family or tutors for an indeterminate period and oh, the reasons are varied and many. You could remain as close as your home’s very own dungeons or the secret passages behind the walls that you’re not supposed to know exist, or go as far as the city limits, at which point very unhelpful Templars would question why you as a minor child were not with any guardians and you would be returned to your home usually by the lobe of your ear.” He rubbed his right one for good measure. “I honestly believe to this day that the right’s longer than the left because of how frequently that happened.”

Why use ten or twenty words to make your point when you could use nigh on a thousand? A particular talent at all levels of the Imperial senate, after all.

Savastian blinked.

Dorian had done it again. Covering for his embarrassment by babbling, thus embarrassing himself further. Let it never be said that Dorian didn’t excel at doing the wrong thing at the right time. He was not, after all, at any level of the Imperial senate. He was presently in the library at Skyhold confusing the one man he really needed to try not to upset.

Er…

“I…away.” Savastian blinked at him again. Oh, but he had lovely, long eyelashes. “I mean, away from Skyhold, as in, out of…here. I want…I saw…a place. Let me…can we?”

Other than the fact that Sav had rarely been this speechless, the moment they were sharing now was possibly the rarest occurrence Dorian had witnessed in his time with the Inquisition: Savastian Trevelyan unable to utter even one complete sentence fluidly. He hadn’t a clue what this was about but if nothing else he considered that the non-mage with the glowing green magic hand had accepted Dorian with open arms to date, refused to lie to him about the meeting with his father in Redcliffe, and had stuck up for him while facing down Magister Halward Pavus of blah-blah-blah and above all, gave him bedroom eyes often enough that some measure of hope burned like tiny dancing butterfly embers deep in his shriveled black Tevinter heart.

Dorian knew when thanks was needed, and how to show a modicum of interest without appearing all ‘yay, let’s jump into bed now!’ and thus he replied, “I would very much enjoy an away with you, regardless how far or near it may be. Pray tell: what should I pack, and for how long of an absence. Or conversely, advise that I don’t need to pack at all but simply should meet you somewhere. Assuming we’re staying close enough to return quickly, that is. Near. Here.”

Well, now who couldn’t string a proper sentence together?

“You may need a week’s worth of wear,” Sav advised.

“Cold or warm?”

“Moderate with a slight chill at night.”

Ah, now words were coming easier. Thank the Maker. There was only so much tripping over his own perfect lips Dorian could handle. Or watching Savastian trip over his _own_ equally perfect, full, slightly pink…where was he again?

“Where shall we meet?”

“The stable.”

“Time.”

“One hour will suffice?”

“One hour? The Void itself is well aware that a man of my exquisite taste requires time to sort his daily wear properly, including which clasps and gold accents go best with each, unlike your Ferelden habit of cobbling together whichever pieces of clothing are clean or at the very least, don’t smell like dog yet.”

“Uh…two? Hours. Not…um…dogs? Or gold.”

“No, no,” Dorian sighed melodramatically as he flapped his hand in the air. “I’ve become used to your southern proclivities. One hour it is.”

“Southern proclivities?”

“Yes.”

“Odd. I was beginning to believe my proclivities had turned northward,” Savastian mumbled as he beelined it down the curved staircase near Dorian’s cubby hole.

“Turned…” Dorian raised an eyebrow, moving toward the library door that would lead him outside. “Northward?” That was when the truth – and very nearly the door, as Fiona opened it from outside – smacked him right between the eyes. His mouth made an O without sound, leaving Fiona apologizing profusely thinking her accidental opening was responsible for the _altus_ ’s look of shock, but him barely registering it as he made his way toward his room.

> _Come, come, there's a wondrous land_
> 
> _For the hopeful heart and the willing hand_
> 
> _Come, come, there's a wondrous land_
> 
> _Where I'll build you a home in the meadow_

Dorian had been surprised to learn that they were headed to the Hinterlands. It was where he and the Inquisitor had first met, in the Redcliffe chantry, and where the two men had faced Halward Pavus together. It was where Sav had discovered Mother Giselle – and didn’t Dorian just wish he’d left the nattering hen there at the Crossroads, dammit, rather than bringing her with him – and their horsemaster. Where he’d first closed rifts in front of strangers and had made the farmlands safe for farmers to return. He’d done silly things like tell a ram named Lord Woolsley that his Jimmy missed him and herded a wayward druffalo home. He’d gone into a dwarven world, hugely rich in its own right yet hidden away from most Hinterlanders.

Savastian had spent many hours regaling Dorian with tales of his exploits prior to them getting stuck in the future together, and Dorian had lapped up every ounce of Sav-related knowledge like a milk-starved cat. And so as they passed various places he’d heard of, either he would mention them and learn more about what had been done at each location, or the Inquisitor would bring something up. They passed a bit too close to Redcliffe for Dorian to see anything but…well, red…and then turned south until they eventually came across an Inquisition camp. A slight southwesterly movement brought them past an active Inquisition logging stand, where many laborers, surprised to see the Herald of Andraste himself passing by, clamored for the right to greet and thank him for saving their homes, their lands, their families.

Dorian was overwhelmed by the genuine love and gratitude and pledged support simply by virtue of being Savastian’s traveling companion at the moment. He knew it wasn’t directed at him, but he could not resist the urge to hold his head a little higher and preen a bit when there was expressed the realization that he was the evil mage from Tevinter that’d been trussed up in stories to look something like a darkspawn ogre but was definitely not as ugly as one. Savastian’s response to the sometimes off-color or snide remarks was, “Dorian is my best friend in the entire world. If you support what I’m doing to help you, know that he and many others are working twice as hard behind-the-scenes to ensure I succeed for us all.”

Okay, there was less preening and more tears-in-the-eyes but one had to hide the latter lest one’s kohl began running down one’s cheeks in a rather untoward manner, and thus the former kept the latter from becoming problematic. Or so Dorian told himself.

They moved out into open land again after that. Softly rolling hills greeted them and finally somewhere along the path Dorian mustered the courage to say, “Thank you for sticking up for me with those terribly rustic peasants. Fereldens are…blunt, are they not?”

“And you, the very soul of discretion in all your conversations,” Savastian teased.

Dorian huffed and puffed and couldn’t help the grin that came through it all.

“And you’re welcome. But it’s true. And not just of you, but of all who belong to the Inquisition.”

“You mean,” Dorian pressed, feeling a little trembly while doing so, “that everyone in the Inquisition is your best friend in the entire world?” He swallowed hard.

Sav allowed his horse to fall back a bit so the men upon their mounts were side-by-side. He raised an eyebrow as his stallion neighed and tossed his head a bit. “Even Brekk finds that a silly question.”

Dorian put his nose in the air. “I’ll have you know that silly questions have their uses.” His mare whinnied. “Celia agrees.”

“You know, our horses are very opinionated.”

“Well, according to Horsemaster Dennet they’re a bonded pair, so I presume they know each other well.”

“Really?”

Dorian nodded. “Interestingly enough, he says these Dalish All-Bred are the only horses who actually mate for life. He’s seen one mourn when another has been killed in battle, and has heard of others who’ve traveled many miles to be reunited with their mate if separated for any reason. He was rather pleased to get his hands on a bonded pair that had been human-bred and trained. It’s all quite fascinating if you can stand the stench of the stables long enough to speak with the man. Of course, I’ve gotten used to it for the most part, having to travel with Blackwall time to time.”

Savastian smiled and shook his head as he brought Brekk to a stop. Celia matched him, tossing her head along with her mate’s similar gesture. Dorian looked up and saw a sight that took his breath away. Without a word he dismounted, dropping the reins as he took in the meadow before them. It was ringed on three sides – west, north and east – by evergreen trees so thick that he doubted anything bigger than a horse could fit between any two of them. Soft, tall grass reached him mid-shin and the entirety of the field was dotted with wildflowers of every color he thought Nature capable of making.

Yellows and whites. Pinks and purples. Blues and reds. A gentle wind rustled them all and he felt like he was standing not upon hard ground, but upon an ocean of green, ripples of waves making the grass shimmer unnaturally. And set further back in the circular meadow, nearer the northernmost treeline, was a moderately large wooden structure with a brightly painted red front door that Dorian could make out even from this distance.

Dorian’s throat suddenly closed up as a hawk swooped overhead and the chirping of several other types of birds seeped into his consciousness. “There’s…” he faltered, swallowing hard, trying to remove the obstruction from his ability to speak. “This reminds me of the Alexius lands north of Minrathous, where Felix and I would escape to now and then, simply to get away from the city and… _be_.”

“I know.” The Inquisitor’s warm, soft, lilting voice came from his right shoulder, startling Dorian, who met his steady gaze even as he tried to calm his rapidly beating heart. “I remember you telling me of it once after we returned from the future, when you were sharing stories of Gereon and Felix over a game of chess.”

“You…actually paid attention?”

Savastian gave him a strange look. “Of course I paid attention.”

“Huh,” Dorian whispered. “I’m not used to people actually listening to my stories, never mind remembering them.”

A warm hand landed on his right shoulder and Dorian suddenly felt light-headed. “Come,” Sav said softly. “Let me show you the _capanna_.”

“Why, Inquisitor!” Dorian said in not-altogether-faked shock, a hand flying palm-flat to land on his chest as they and their mounts began walking toward the house. “Have you been learning _Old Tevene_?”

Savastian laughed. “I may have picked up a few words here and there. Thanks to you, I can very successfully curse my way through your homeland should the need arise.”

Dorian laughed out loud, still mystified as to why exactly they were here, but enjoying the warmth of late planting season when swarms of bees were undoubtedly being captured not far away. After all, they stood in the middle of the Thedas heartland, where milking animals were being well-fed to ensure hundreds of pounds of cheese would be made over the coming months. Where all of the admittedly quaint and yet so very necessary undertakings of a people as close to the land as Tevinters were to their magic, would become the fruits and vegetables and grains harvested some months hence. There would be feasting and revelry, drinking and general happiness. Problems always seemed to disappear during times of plenty because even the poor were shared with here in Ferelden.

Things like that had never happened in the Tevinter Dorian had grown up in. Not until he’d been exposed to the countryside through his travels with Felix. He recalled those days with fondness and a warmth bloomed in his chest as they neared the _capanna_. He recalled being swept up in a wedding celebration as a lad of only ten, one of the many times he’d run away from home, carried on the shoulders of everyone from the groom to the lowliest servant for hours, and then – as usual – simply being abandoned near the road once festivities were over.

Dorian realized he always felt like he was being left by the side of the road, sometimes as a direct result of his own actions, but oftentimes simply because he was like one of those gifts a person received that they never quite knew what to do with. You put it out by the road for some unwitting sod to find and take home with them thinking it might be useful, because that sort of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ action is preferable to actually figuring out what to do with it yourself.

They walked up the front steps to the porch and the Inquisitor placed his glowing hand upon what appeared to be a charmed or perhaps enchanted lock. Shortly the door swung open and Savastian gestured for Dorian to enter, saying somewhat shyly, “I hope you like it. Please do have a look around while I tend to the horses.”

“You’ve a stable?” Dorian asked, having seen no such thing upon arrival.

“A very small temporary paddock between the back of the _capanna_ and the tree line. The trees are thick enough to shelter the horses in a storm. I aim to have a small barn built to the east over the summer. Oh, and there’s a small river to the west. It trickles through the forest all the way from Lake Calenhad, or so I’m told, and there’s decently-sized fish to be found in its waters. I thought perhaps to catch us some for dinner.”

With that, and a small smile that made Dorian’s internals squiggle, the Inquisitor disappeared and the mage stepped into another world entirely.

> _The stars, the stars, oh how bright they'll shine_
> 
> _On a world the lord himself designed_
> 
> _The stars, the stars, oh how bright they'll shine_
> 
> _On the home we will build in the meadow_

As rustic as the outside of the structure appeared, that was how oppositely lavish it was inside. The front door opened into a small but well-appointed central room with both a fireplace and an ironwork stove that he knew would pump out an unbelievable amount of heat when the days and nights turned cold. Everywhere there hung flowers both dried and fresh, scenting the air lightly and yet in a way that made Dorian’s heart flutter from the simple thoughtfulness of having done all that work.

The centerpiece of the room was a very long and soft three-seater _couche_ similar to the one in the Inquisitor’s bedroom back at Skyhold, where both men had spent long hours sitting together at opposite ends just reading in comparative silence when the library became too noisy. With the fireplace before it and the hide of a great bear between the two to keep it warm underfoot, it presented the very conjuration of ‘cozy’ in Dorian’s mind.

To the left was a doorway that led to a small kitchen area, where there stood a wood-burning stove, small bread oven and straw-ice larder along with many cupboards, all of which to varying degrees held both preserved and fresh meat, and fruits and vegetables, and breads and cheeses such that Dorian’s stomach growled and he nicked an apple to stave off further rumblings. They’d ridden quite some distance since their mid-afternoon meal and as dusk drew nearer, the need for his body to consume more food wished to make itself quite known.

The shiny red apple was sweet to the tongue as he made short work of it while moving back through the central room to the other side of the house. There he found a closed door, and when he opened it he gasped so suddenly at what lay beyond that he nearly choked on his last bite of apple.

Every carving, every piece of furniture, all were made from the finest deep red wood and whitest marble Dorian had seen in the south. From the bed, which was at least wide enough to fit three of him across it with room to spare, to the two cupboards that flanked it, the detail in the woodworking of the headboard, cupboards, tables, frames and window coverings was something Dorian knew it had taken many months of work for whomever the carver was to complete.

From the left-most wall taken up by the bed and wardrobes, his eyes swept forward to the fireplace directly across from the door, before which was yet another great bear hide rug along with pillows that were covered with, if he didn’t miss his guess, the finest in silks. To the right of that were two very comfortable partially reclined chairs with a table in between and behind them still, build into the right-most wall, were three bookshelves side by side only halfway filled, but also with various objects set upon them as decorations.

As his heart went from fluttering to pounding, he approached one particular object on the shelf. It was a curious thing to behold in a place such as this, being a replica of his birthright amulet down to the correctly identified inlaid gemstones and particular shape of its golden design, but some twenty times larger. It was breathtaking. But what made his brow pucker in a frown was what stood right next to it. It appeared to be a silken shoe with ribbons for tying it round the ankle. Made of satin, perhaps, with a hard enough sole that it was clear its wearer was expected to do a lot of walking rather than sitting around looking pretty. It was the color of blood and embroidered into the outside edge of it with white thread was a symbol Dorian didn’t recognize.

A soft rustling told him he wasn’t alone, and when Dorian turned, it was to find Savastian moving to stand next to him. The man picked up the shoe from the shelf and seemed somehow sad as he held it for a few seconds, then replaced it.

“What is all this?” Dorian asked, unsure himself why he was whispering. It was difficult to see Sav’s face due to the sun having sunk below the treeline surrounding them, but he could tell it was showing more than one emotion. “This is a replica of my birthright,” Dorian gestured toward the shelf, "for example."

“It is. You know, I always wanted to ask, why the two-headed snake? It seems at odds with the gentler nature of your family as compared to the actions of other magisters’ houses in Tevinter.”

“Ah, yes. The serpents are two sides of the same problem, you see,” he explained as he traced the head and body of the one on the left. “This symbol represents the visible,” and here he traced down around the bottom of the symbol and back up to the snake head on the right side, “and invisible enemies of House Pavus, which are countered and conquered by the couples who have created our grand lineage, represented here by the jewels. The two aqua-colored ones are the first founding Pavuses many centuries ago, which is why you’ll find them slightly separated from the newer generations. The red stones are my grandparents, the pink are my parents.”

“And you’re…the white.”

“Yes. Had I siblings, the single large stone would for each of them be a different color from mine, and when they married, a new row of two gems of that color would be added beneath those of my parents, and so forth. Thus each person’s amulet differs even within the same family.”

“That’s amazing,” Sav breathed, reaching out to touch the white gem in the sculpture.

“What is…why do you have this here?” Dorian asked.

“I…commissioned it.” He ducked his head. “When your amulet was delivered to Skyhold, before I brought it to you I asked Dagna to recreate it down to the gemstones. She then enchanted it, because Dagna is completely incapable of making anything _without_ an enchantment, with protection.”

“Protection?”

Sav nodded. “Apparently this entire land is protected from evildoings so long as this recreation of your birthright remains.”

Dorian’s eyebrows shot up. “Well…” he stammered, turning and gesturing to everything in the bedroom, “what of all these appointments? The richest blues and reds and purples, the finest silks and woodworks. It’s as if I walked into a Ferelden palace, although I have to admit this puts the castle in Redcliffe to absolute shame.”

“And you haven’t even seen the privy,” Savastian said, clearly trying for amusement. But his heart wasn’t in it, in spite of the smile he attempted.

“What’s wrong?” Dorian asked, thudding heart slowing to a chilled beat as an uneasy feeling crept over him.

“Come,” the Inquisitor said, placing his hand at the small of Dorian’s back and gesturing toward the bedroom door. “Let me show you one more thing before I explain further. It really is the most beautiful part of this place.”

Dorian followed willingly as Savastian led him back through the front door and out into the grasses of the meadow again. The sun was gone and a silver-white moon so large it almost felt like Dorian might be able to reach out and touch it, loomed in the southeastern sky. Millions of stars dotted the Maker’s dome above them and even the _Via Lactea_ was visible above the trees.

Then his eyes dropped down to the meadow and he noted the grasses looked like a swaying silver sea, but a distant flash caught his attention and he looked back up to the sky to investigate. A half-dozen falling stars streaked overhead and Dorian inhaled sharply, awe making him feel like a small child who’d discovered his magic for the first time. It had been so long since he’d been anywhere that he’d done anything like this. Even at Skyhold, he rarely looked up.

“The entire sky is visible here,” Savastian whispered, mouth so close to Dorian’s ear that he could feel his breath. It sent shivers down his spine and raised goosebumps on his arms. “There are no torches, nor candles nor fires nor camps. You can see every star. Spend all night counting them if you wish. And you see falling stars and streaking stars and eventually all the constellations will pass near enough that you can make them out, name them, imagine what they meant to those who gave them life even before the elven legends of old.”

Dorian turned to look at his companion and found the tips of their noses were almost touching. “What _is_ all this?” he asked for what felt like the tenth time. It was beyond description but it made his mouth dry and he just didn’t know what was going on.

“I…it’s for you, Dorian. A…getaway. A place to make you feel comfortable. Happy. A reminder of better times, perhaps.” Savastian cleared his throat as Dorian’s jaw dropped. “Ah…that is, until you, well, whatever you intend to do after we defeat Corypheus, know that this land and this home will always be in your name. I…the deed is locked within the floor safe. That’s in a room I don’t think you have seen yet, beyond the bedroom. Um…an office of sorts.”

“Wait, you…bought me _land_?”

Sav rubbed the back of his neck. “And, uh…built a, uh…”

“House.”

“Yes.”

Dorian looked into Savastian’s eyes. “You know, Inquisitor, where I come from, these things are, uh…well, they’re…it’s what a son’s father would give to him and his bride on their wedding day. Land that the couple could use to build a…” Dorian’s voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying.

“Retreat?”

He nodded dumbly.

“Look, I…” Sav huffed out a sigh. “I’m doing this all wrong. All backwards. I…never meant to show you this until…I mean, if…I…was trying to tell you something earlier and…when I failed, I panicked and…foolishly thought to ply you with what was supposed to have been a…well, it was supposed to have happened later.”

“Later? Later after what? Are you…is this your way of…proposing marriage to me?” Dorian wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that, especially given that he and the Inquisitor hadn’t done much more than light flirting to date. He felt hot and cold all at the same time, for starters, and yet…he’d never…well, it didn’t come up in Tevinter, so clearly this wasn’t ever something he saw in his own future. But here in Ferelden things were so different as to be almost laughably so sometimes, and it appeared that wooing might fit that category as well. Add to that, wooing from an apparently permanently flustered potential suitor.

Savastian moved to seat himself on the front steps. There were three of them that went to a porch that ran the entire front of the _capanna_ , supported by columns and covered with pots full of rosebushes that were already in bloom. The scent was captivating as Dorian sat down next to a man he considered a friend, but hadn’t allowed himself to consider as potentially anything more just by virtue of who and what he was. Not seriously, anyway. After all, a man of noble birth who was also looked at as the savior of Thedas wasn’t someone you assumed wanted to hop into bed with an evil Tevinter mage for untethered frolicking.

“I need to tell you the truth, Dorian,” the Inquisitor said softly, barely audible above the buzz of nighttime insects and the occasional hoot or chirp of a nightbird. “I’m scared to, but I…I can’t put a foot one way or the other unless I do.”

The Inquisitor who’d faced down everything from demons to bears to ogres to Dorian’s father to Corypheus himself was _scared_? This didn’t bode well, in Dorian’s experience. Nevertheless, he kept his voice even when he asked, “The truth about what?”

Sav sighed, keeping his eyes on the waving silvery grasses before them as he spoke. “What do you know of me? Of who I am, I mean.”

“Uh,” Dorian frowned, unsure of why he was being asked this but more than willing to comply if it would start them down a path that would lead him into a world where he knew what was going on. “Well, you’re the youngest son of noble family Trevelyan, which has ties to the Imperium, including my own family, as well as Nevarran royalty. You hail from Ostwick, your family are known for their piety and you were accompanying an elder brother and two cousins to assist them with their chantry-related duties at the Conclave, which was how this all began for you. I…I mean, I know more about you than your brief biography from our conversations, of course. What do you wish to have me recount of Savastian Trevelyan?”

“That will do,” Savastian stated, voice still incredibly soft. “However, that’s not who I am.”

Dorian’s frown nearly turned into a scowl. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m ashamed that I haven’t come clean already, but…everyone was so certain of my identity based on the papers I was carrying when they found me at the temple that I simply didn’t correct them when they called me Lord Trevelyan. After that I was swept up in all the rift-closing and demon-fighting without any choice thanks to this anchor,” he stated, anger and regret threading his words together, “which I now know was nothing more than a Maker-be-damned mistake.”

“I…what are you telling me? That…you’re not Savastian Trevelyan, is that it?”

He turned and met Dorian’s confused gaze, the moonlight bathing them both in a strange silver-blue light that turned Sav’s eyes almost to liquid silver. Dorian’s heart constricted when Savastian nodded and replied, “That’s it. I’m not Savastian Trevelyan. In fact,” he continued, looking away to his hands, which were currently worrying each other as they hung between his knees, “I’m not even a noble.”

Dorian’s shock must have been plain on his face, for when Sav stole a look at him, he blanched and jumped to his feet, moving some distance away before turning back to face him. Dorian rose to his feet, but the gesture Sav made in his direction made it clear he needed space right now.

“When…Bann Trevelyan ordered his youngest two sons Arnoult and Savastian to accompany their cousins Martinus and Baldwin to the Conclave, it was because they had two clerics and their assistants in the family, who required administrative help. Catalia and Magdela would have been contenders for the Divine had they survived. They were much older than even Martinus, who was middle-aged. Arnoult was to help him help Catalia, and Savastian was to help Baldwin help Magdela.”

“And…you’re none of those people you just mentioned?”

“No.” Savastian – who wasn’t actually Savastian – moved slowly back toward Dorian, hands wringing together in a way that looked almost painful. “I was a household page in service to Savastian, who was betrothed until the woman’s family threatened to rescind it once they discovered he…” The man looked away. “Savastian and I were…close. We had…were…”

Suddenly Dorian understood. Or at least, he understood _one_ thing. “You were lovers?”

“No, we hadn’t…we were in a relationship,” the man confessed.

Dorian tried the word on for size but it was as foreign to him as Ferelden had once been. “A…relationship. Without sex?”

He huffed out a laugh. “We had been together for six months and had done a lot together, but there were some things we hadn’t yet gotten to.” Shaking his head sadly, the man continued, “I always thought it was because we were, you know, saving our, um…well, our virginity, you know? For us two when _we_ got married.”

The poor man looked like he was wishing for a hole to come swallow him up.

“I mean, I really thought I loved him. No, I mean…I really _did_ love him, and this time away was meant to be followed by us truly getting away together, to a property owned by the Trevelyans some distance east of Ostwick.”

Dorian closed the gap between them, slowly, feeling as if he were dealing with a spooked dracolisk. “What happened that day?”

Not-Savastian looked him in the eyes. They were nearly the same height, but only now did Dorian realize how truly broad-shouldered his friend was. How very strong his features were. He certainly had the appearance of a noble, but then again, it wasn’t as if Tevinter-born Dorian was an expert on Ferelden genetics by any means.

“The Conclave had adjourned for a much-needed break,” non-Sav began. “By the time I finished in the privy, I didn’t see Sav or Arn anywhere, so I went searching for them. Just outside the temple were several half-sunken ruins that intrigued me, so I began looking them over. That was when I stumbled upon…upon Savastian. He was…he was fucking a girl and…when he saw me, he looked me right in the eyes as he spent himself. The girl was…she was a mage, and…when I didn’t leave right away, she blasted me with something like lightning.”

Dorian felt his blood curdle in his veins. He could only imagine how that felt. Well, actually, he could do more than imagine since something similar had happened to him with the one man in Tevinter he’d allowed himself to develop open feelings for.

“I ran back to the temple, both in pain and in shock. He found me in a side room, off the main hall just past the vast library. I was…I was crying and…he lashed out at me, blaming me for making him dally with me when I wasn’t acceptable to his family as a legitimate partner, couldn’t give him heirs, he just…he was so cruel and to this day I don’t understand why. We had always been…well…loving, and kind and…he’d always led me to believe that this was a real and true relationship.”

Dorian saw tears well up in his friend’s eyes. His arms tried very hard to reach out to him, but he fought the urge and instead seethed, “What a bastard.” Oh, yes. Dorian could definitely identify. He was willing to bet his entire next year’s earnings from the Inquisition that someone had gotten hold of Savastian’s ear – likely his brother Arnoult – on their way to the Conclave and passed along a fatherly threat of disowning him if he didn’t return to fly the straight and narrow after all was said and done.

“Well…it was him being a bastard that allowed me to live.”

“How so?” Dorian asked, truly curious.

“When the bells began to ring for the Conclave to resume its session, Savastian sneered at me not to worry about coming back to it, nor to worry about returning home with him because he was done and was going to go back and marry the woman he was betrothed to and have the family he was meant to have. He called me some…names…and left me in that room there near the front of the temple. Everyone disappeared back to either participate in or observe the session. I was completely alone.” He shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything at first. I had no idea something was happening. That Divine Justinia had been taken captive, that anything untoward was afoot.”

Things began to make sense to Dorian. First, not-Savastian’s apparent interest in him but lack of willingness to do much beyond casual flirting regardless of the look Dorian had sometimes seen in his eyes, directed solely at him. Second, the fact that of all those attending the Conclave, only this man had survived enough to not only stumble upon Corypheus, Justinia and the Grey Wardens, but to be in a position to be thrust into the Fade rather than killed instantly like everyone else when the orb’s magic exploded.

“You were in the Fade with me, in Nightmare’s realm. You saw the memories, so you know what happened next. But the _reason_ I came upon them? That I survived? Is because I was the one person nowhere near where everyone else was. I was closer to Corypheus than I was to the session attendees. They all died as a result. I lived thanks to finding my boyfriend fucking a woman, and the subsequent argument we had.”

He snorted and looked away. “How was I supposed to confess any of that to people who first wanted me dead? Then, to people who only kept me alive because they needed _this_ to save the world?” He thrust his anchor-laden hand into the air as he stalked back to the porch where he stopped and leaned heavily against the railing on the side of the stairs. “Then, to people who lauded me as the second coming of Andraste, with all due righteousness?”

Dorian approached him, reached out and wrapped his arms around him. He heard the man gasp in surprise, but then his larger, bulkier arms just as tightly enfolded him as not-Sav buried his face against Dorian’s bare shoulder, lips touching his flesh in a way that heated Dorian up both north and south of his border.

Not-Sav turned his face to the side after a few moments, lips a hair’s breadth from his neck. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Dorian,” he whispered, and every muscle of Dorian’s froze in place. “But I couldn’t…I cannot move forward in any direction under such a massive falsehood as lying about my identity. I…I’m unworthy of you, in every way, but that doesn’t mean I cannot give you things you deserve, things that will make you happy, while I am privileged enough to have at my disposal the resources due the Inquisitor.”

Dorian roughly shoved him back from his shoulder, so he could look him directly in the eyes. “What in all of Thedas makes you think you’re unworthy of me?”

He barked out a laugh. “You’re from one of the most prestigious houses in Tevinter!” he exclaimed. “You’re…you’re _beautiful_ , Dorian. You’re…so witty, intelligent…you’re just perfect. In every way, you’re…when I look at you, it’s like a golden-bronze statue has come to life, stepping out of every dream I’ve ever had into my reality such that when you’re near, I am blinded to all that surrounds me.”

He shook his head and tried to pull away completely, but Dorian kept his hands fisted in the front of the Inquisitor’s shirt, willing him to just let it all out. And because he could barely move or think given the words the man was saying. To _him_. About _him_. It took his breath away, quite literally.

“I am but a servant, not only just Ferelden, but an elf-blooded human raised in the Kirkwall alienage and sold to a slaver who then sold me as a servant to the family Trevelyan as a household page. That red satin shoe next to your birthright on the shelf? It's the only thing I have left of that life. It was the right of the pair of slipper-shoes I had to wear when in service at their castle. That is _my_ birthright. Such as it is.”

“You’re elf-blooded?” Dorian managed to whisper. “I…couldn’t tell.”

“You can’t, mostly. Sometimes elf-blooded look at least a little bit elfy, but I’m more human-looking and it made me an outcast among both elves and humans, if the latter discovered my lineage. I…suppose you could say I’m of a noble house in a way, for it was a noble in Kirkwall who bedded my mother and then spurned her once she discovered herself with child. There was another who’d been something like me, though his father was an Antivan merchant. He actually wound up going to Tevinter to be trained to use his magic properly.”

Everything in his friend seemed to deflate, then. “You see, my mother was dressmaker to several noble families in Kirkwall, and one noble’s son took a shine to her and then came me. So…I’m nobody, Dorian. Certainly nobody worthy of your breeding.”

“For the record,” Dorian countered fiercely, “breeding is about the distillation of desirable magical and physical traits. It has nothing to do with character. So for what it’s worth, I happen to find _you_ to be more well-bred than me, in many ways.” He cleared his throat as he smoothed the right side of his mustache. “However, I admit to being exceptionally good-looking as a result of my genetic imprint.”

Not-Sav barked out a laugh.

“That’s…quite a story,” Dorian then stated, for lack of anything more eloquent to say. “I mean…your life in general, now that I know the truth of it.”

“Yes, it will make for scandalous fodder on the lips of gossiping Orlesians when they find out their precious Herald of Andraste is half-human, half-elf, grew up in an alienage, was sold into both slavery and servanthood, was in what he thought was a permanent relationship with a _male_ human noble, got jilted and because of this lover’s spat, came upon the most holy person in all of Ferelden being held prisoner by an ancient magister, grabbed a glowing ball swatted out of the hands of a darkspawn, got his hand practically split in two and caused a magical explosion that killed hundreds of people _including_ the Divine as a result, was taken prisoner by the two women who used to _work_ for said Divine, forced to close holes in the fabric of existence, given the job of Inquisitor which he accepted because to the Void with it, he had literally nowhere else to go…and guess what?” he continued somewhat hysterically, “the story isn’t _done_ yet because now this great pretender has gone and fallen for a Tevinter _altus_ so far out of his reach he may as well be reaching for the Maker-forsaken _moon_!”

There were an awful lot of words jumbling around inside of Dorian’s head. Too many for him to put into order, especially on an empty stomach.

“And…I love you, Dorian. I have for…I just…I love you.”

Something inside of Dorian broke so hard and fast that couldn’t even remember his own name. And so he did the only thing that made sense in the moment: he placed his hand at the back of his friend’s neck, hauled him forward and kissed the living shit out of him. First, their mouths were closed. Second, out of surprise, not-Sav opened his mouth. Third, Dorian took full advantage by thrusting his tongue into the opening and fourth, more shooting stars shot overhead while the men’s hands began roaming and holding, their lips and tongues exploring, their breaths commingling and their bodies taking great interest in what was beginning to happen between them.

At last, completely out of breath and in desperate need of a few seconds of air, they parted and leaned their foreheads together, huffing and puffing against each other’s faces with their eyes closed.

Dorian pulled away once his breath was under better control, opening his eyes and giving his friend a bit of a shake with the hand still around the back of his neck. He opened his eyes as well and for long moments they simply stared at each other. Finally, Dorian said, “Hello.” He backed away a bit, releasing his hold on his neck and moving to clasp his hand and shake it. “I am Dorian Pavus and I have never been so glad to have met someone in all my life as I am you.”

The man’s eyes shone brightly with unshed tears. “Really?”

Dorian nodded. “Really. And you are?”

He swallowed hard. Released Dorian’s hand. Palmed the side of his face, which Dorian leaned into like a cat and did _not_ purr, no matter what you may hear in the aftermath. “I’m Thellan. I have never had a surname as my father refused my mother’s request to give me his. So I’m…just Thellan.”

“You’re not ‘just’ anything,” Dorian countered. “I…” He pulled away, turned and gestured toward the _capanna_. “Is this…for us?”

Thellan nodded. “I…it was folly, really. A dream.”

Dorian grabbed his hand. “Come, I’m hungry,” he said as his stomach gurgled. “Let us partake of a late meal and talk about what’s next for us and for you as well, given your true identity.”

“What…wait, there’s a next? For us?”

“Of course there is,” Dorian stated like it was the most obvious thing in the entire world. “Listen to me: if you can do all of _this_ for me, without having any idea if I reciprocated your feelings, well…that means…I don’t even know what to do with it. How to process it.” He shook his head as they stepped up onto the porch. “What I do know is that you broke something in here.” Dorian gestured to his chest. “Something like shackles, that have been holding me prisoner by virtue of the society that shaped me to believe I was wrong to be as I was born.”

“That sounds familiar.”

Dorian nodded. “We’ve both been hurt. We’re both scarred on the inside. But…” He moved forward and stroked Thellan’s cheek. “But we’re alive and we’re here and we’re together, and no, I don’t want to run from you or tell everyone your secret. And I don’t at all think you’re unworthy…in fact, I think completely the opposite. And nobody in my entire life has _ever_ done something this grand for me, so I’m sort of…on the fence between bursting into tears and finding a cliff to jump from, quite frankly.”

“We have issues.”

Dorian barked out a laugh as they walked into the house and closed the door behind them. “That we do, my friend. Let’s try to explore those, then, shall we? Together, perhaps?”

Thellan thought a moment, smiled and nodded. “I love you, Dorian. That…I can’t deny, no matter how you react.”

“I reacted to you telling me the first time, by kissing you.”

“Funny how I’m kind of forgetting that already.”

Dorian growled much more loudly than his stomach and set about making certain Thellan didn’t forget again.

> _Come, come, there's a wondrous land_
> 
> _For the hopeful heart and the willing hand_
> 
> _Come, come, there's a wondrous land_
> 
> _Where I'll build you a home in the meadow_


End file.
